


Right to Keep and Bear Arms

by aug325, CephalonGhost



Series: Membrane's Guide to Becoming a Better Parent: LOSE YOUR FUCKING ARMS [3]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Disobeying your doctors orders, Loss of Limbs, Panic Attacks, Professor Membrane Tries to Be a Better Parent, ZiM's only present in one chapter and he's a little shit the whole time, blatant missue of medical equipment, prosthetic robo arm development, rehabilitation and recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aug325/pseuds/aug325, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CephalonGhost/pseuds/CephalonGhost
Summary: Picking up after "Phantom Pains and Pudding Cups"The Professor has finally received his first set of prototype prosthetics.Unfortunately things still aren't quite smooth sailing during his recovery.
Series: Membrane's Guide to Becoming a Better Parent: LOSE YOUR FUCKING ARMS [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782715
Comments: 117
Kudos: 207





	1. Chapter 1

Weeks continued to go by with some days blurring together in a haze as a couple more months passed. Months involving brain mapping, pain, virtual reality tests/therapies, _pain_ , additional prosthetic prep surgeries, **_pain_**. The Professor’s physical therapy and rehabilitation only beginning to move beyond the standard leg stretching exercises. During which his children would try to “help” by wrapping themselves around his lower legs as he raised and bent them for some added weight in his routine.

The remaining damage to his internal organs and other… _equipment_ that required artificial replacements had also been finalized, so he was also starting to readjust to standing and walking on his own two legs again. Though Membrane attempted not to dwell too much on the proceedings and tests involved with the latter. They had been incredibly uncomfortable and damaging towards what little pride he had left even with him denying their pleas of testing the additional “features” the team had thought to include. He might actively be allowing himself to serve as a guinea pig in the name of alternate-limb prosthetic science; but he wanted to keep _some_ of his dignity intact, damn it! He was a grown man with more PHDs than people were able to keep track of, and he already couldn’t even go to the bathroom by himself!

But at least he didn’t have to stay on such a restrictive diet or deal with tubes and catheters stuck up inside him anymore...

Between a few of his surgeries, Dib’s little friend from school managed to come by as he’d anticipated. Though coincidentally, the times in which he appeared also happened to be times when, as the head of his surgical team would put it, he was “high off his ass” from painkillers to the point of having extremely vivid hallucinations. Because Membrane could have sworn the first time his son’s friend had come by to visit, he’d come in through the window.

The _sixth-story_ window.

That just wasn’t scientifically possible for a child of his size and stature!

Just like the visions of Bruce and Diana, he also saw swimming around the room, amongst other unexplainable imagery.

His mind was a bit fuzzy on the details so that he couldn’t remember much of went on during each visitation. But he could remember the boys having some sort of shouting level argument that ended with them in a fistfight on the floor. During which, the little green boy’s hair seemed to fall off as one of his eyes also popped out of its socket.

_“LOOK, DAD! HE’S AN ALIEN! SEE?!”_

_“Thass nice somm…”_

The next unannounced visit happened to be during one of their mealtimes when the Professor was a bit more cognitive and capable of “putting on his face” before his son’s skin-conditioned-plagued friend could look his way. Which only amounted to using his hair limb to pull the blanket tucked under his chin up and over his face.

Again, the boys seemed to just argue and shout at one another the entire time.

_“WHY ARE YOU STILL NOT COMING TO SKOOL?!”_

_“DUDE, WHY DO YOU EVEN CARE?!”_

_“YOU SHALL NOT IGNORE ZIM AS YOU DID BEFORE A SECOND TIME!”_

_“WHAT?! WHAT THE DOOKIE ARE YOU–HEY!”_

Suddenly the little foreign boy was climbing up onto his bed, and Professor had to aggressively blink his eyes to focus on the child now directly in front of him. He was shouting something about how he needed to hurry it up with “regrowing” his arms before Gaz punched him in the side and sent him sprawling onto the floor.

Everything that followed after that was too confusing for Membrane to follow in his current state of mind. He only remembered that the green child suddenly grew a pair of spindly metal legs from his back to perch himself on top of the TV like a cat. Aggressively clawing, hissing, or shielding his face from Dib who had gotten his hands on a spray bottle full of water and was now brandishing it as a weapon. Both realizing after a few pulls of the trigger that the expected effect was not what was happening.

All this was just so amusing to the drugged-up Professor that he started laughing. A soft giggle at first, then growing in volume until he was visibly quaking. The blanket that had been pulled up over his face kept in place by Gaz adjusting the thick fabric before his disfigured visage could be put on display. His bellowing laughter garnered the attention of his son’s friend, who looked at him with an odd expression.

Dib meanwhile took it as a chance to shift tactics. The boy quickly ripping off the other's hair, exposing impossible antenna-like appendages, and then making a dash to throw his stolen prize out the window in the seconds it took the other to react.

Which was through screaming as he dived out the window after his tossed hair. Though he quickly popped back into view not long after only to be swatted and beat off the window’s ledge by Dib swinging around the spare IV pole.

The Professor had also seen the boy again later that night after Dib and Gaz had both been brought home by someone on his payroll. The green child using those same metal legs to position himself hovered just above him in his bed as he glared down at him through the darkness. For some reason, it looked as if his eyes were nothing but large reddish-pink saucers staring down at him. Those weird appendages atop his bald head were also twitching curiously at him.

This he knew for certain was a hallucination.

_“You see me as an alien right now, yes?”_

_“Yes, but I know you’we not weal. Jjjust the by-product of the multiple medications n stowies my som’s been tellin’ me.”_

The shadow shrouded figure seemed to squint suspiciously at him with those eyes that shined much too brightly in the darkness of the room. A small hand then reaching out to grasp his face as a focused beam of light began shining itself over the Professor. A second hand moving to hold his left eye open when he attempted to close them on reflex.

It was almost as if the hallucinated figure was checking the dilation of his pupils.

There was also the feel of something pricking him in the back of his neck, just at the base of his skull. Then just as suddenly it stopped and the figure disappeared through the open window.

He really needed to have a talk with his doctors and nurses about the medication injections he was being given for pain. The vividness and realism of these hallucinations and dreams were starting to become concerning.

Dib's little foreign friend would continue to show up as the days went on. The events of each visitation growing more bizarre and breaching the realms of scientific impossibility. The boy now appearing as he had during his night time hallucinations during the day when his children were present. And by this point, Professor Membrane had fully given up requesting different medication combinations to eliminate his absurd visions.

Today, however, the most noteworthy event to happen wasn’t Dib’s odd little friend paying one of his visits. No, today that went to finally receive his first set of prostheses from the data collected over from the past few weeks.

The prototype arms were composed mostly of 3D printed plastic and other materials. A way to minimize the use of rarer resources until they began constructing what could potentially be the final product. As a result, these arms were much lighter than the projected weight for the alternate limbs the Professor needed to continue training his body for.

After only having the prototypes attached for ten minutes, where he was given the opportunity to test their movements, he already had a list of what he wanted his crew to work on.

 _First_ , the stiffness and rigidness of the arm movement. The current prototype was restricted in its rotational capacity on all joint sections, several degrees below that of an average human. Finer arm and individual finger control also needed a lot more work in order to possess the same look and feel of natural arm movement.

 _Second_ , the speed of the movements and the time it took for the limbs to make said movements. There were delays above several seconds between when the command to move the prosthetics was made to when they would actually act on them.

 _Third_ , the lack of feedback and sensation from the arms. Not feeling when the limb held or touched something or when something happened to touch the limbs. Being able to determine things like the physical weight of an object would make applying the correct amount of pressure or force when handling things less of a guessing game.

 _Fourth_ , arm and hand movements were restricted to one arm at a time. This only added to the slowness and time-consuming nature of simple movements.

And _lastly_...The science damned plastic body harness he needed for them was _uncomfortable._

“So, dad...” Dib speaking drew the Professor’s focus from his raised prosthetic hands to the curious gaze of his son. His eyes silently asking him the questions his father knew must be crossing his mind now that he couldn’t bring himself to ask aloud.

“They’re not ideal, but they’ll serve just fine for now.” He said while glancing towards his temporary new limbs and experimentally flexing a wrist and finger.

“Yeah, they do look kinda lame.” Gaz commented as she examined his arms from where she sat at his side. Her hands rummaging around in her bag until she found and pulled out a sheet of stickers.

Before the Professor could ask what she meant to do with them, she’d already peeled off one featuring a Vampire Piggy enemy and stuck it onto the upper part of his arms.

“There! That looks better already!”

Membrane let his gaze flicker down to the sticker as his daughter began to apply more of them. A laugh escaping him as he slowly maneuvered the right arm to deliver pat to her head.

He mentally noted once more how these slow movements really wouldn’t do.

They wouldn’t do _at all_.

“Thank you, honey.” He gave a second slow pat before repositioning the arm to rest at his side again. He then leaned back against the reclined mattress and let out a partly content sigh.

With these arms, he would finally be allowed to go home with his children to continue the rest of his recovery and rehabilitation.

Never before had he been more _relieved_ to be sentenced to a mandatory stay-at-home recovery period. The only time he would see these blinding white walls again would be if any additional surgeries were needed to make prostheses he could move with the same flair of dramatics he would use when speaking as before a reality

And of course, any that were related to the development of the miniature PEGs to power the arms and their included lasers.

The glove based laser tech he’d wielded before had a kick to them, sure, but…

He wanted these new _guns_ of his to pack a bit more OOMPH behind them.

Membrane had rested his head back and closed his eyes for only a moment before the tell-tale sound of a certain visitor forced them to open again.

“Damn it, ZiM!” Dib immediately spun around angrily towards the opening window.

“ _Language_ , son.” the Professor scolded as Gaz helped him tie a bandana over his face when he found difficulty doing so himself.

“Greetings, Membrane family! ZiM has returned to grace you with his _superior_ presence once again!” The boy announced his arrival as had become customary as he swung into the room. Striking a pose and holding his chin high once he landed on his feet.

“Your presence isn’t even wanted!” Dib threw his hands up in the air while Gaz allowed for herself to slide off the bed to stand beside him.

“You speak dog-dookie, Dib! Of _course_ ZiM is wanted! Your parental unit even said so several times before!” As he spoke, he made his way over to where Membrane sat in his bed.

The Professor gave a wave through flexing the fingers of his right prosthetic, barely getting out a greeting before the boy suddenly jumped up into his lap and made himself comfortable there.

“Oh, hello.” He said as the boy began positioning his prosthetic arms so they hung over his shoulders, seeming to be studying them. “Did you drop by in hopes of having tea before I was officially discharged?”

“GET OFF OUR DAD YOU SPACE MONSTER!” Dib was suddenly shouting, his small hands tightly clenched at his sides like he was getting ready to jump the other. Held back only by Gaz’s white knuckle grip on his shoulder.

The tiny foreigner looked towards Membrane’s children while wearing what could only be identified as a Cheshire-cat grin. The Professor was unsure of how to respond or react to the situation at hand beyond allowing whatever happened to happen. Especially since he still appeared to be hallucinating if the appearance of his son’s friend was anything to go by.

So, he made no comment when the boy shifted and continued to sit atop of him as though he were some luxury recliner. The metal spherical object seemingly embedded into the child’s spine digging into his stomach. The feeling of it pressed against him reminded the Professor of the time his son had brought a similar-looking device to him.

… Or, was it the _same_ device?

The Professor recalled that his son had mentioned it was a form of life support system or something for the boy now in his lap. And from this angle, he could see it sat perfectly flush to his back rather snuggly, most likely connected his spinal column and thus his nervous system by some means.

Hm…

That actually gave him some ideas. For both an alternative type of “harness” as well as how to increase the accuracy of control and movement through a direct connection to his own nerves instead of relying on sensors alone.

“You hyoomans have such primitive limb replacement technology.” The boy spoke as if personally insulted by the Professor’s hand he held splayed open.

“We do indeed.” Membrane agreed, watching how the green child continued to play with the movements of one hand before dropping it in favor of the other. “Though these are only temporary. My people are currently looking into making improvements.”

“Dad, seriously,” Dib, who had been struggling not to say anything up till now, suddenly squeaked out. “You _have_ to see he’s an alien now! He’s _sitting_ on you out of disguise!… _And_ you’re lucid!”

“There are still high quantities of opioid medications in my body, son.” Membrane reminded with a slight tsk. “I’m not even entirely sure if I’m actually awake right now, or if this is just another one of the vivid dreams I’ve been having where your little friend visits me in my sleep.”

His son didn’t seem to handle that response too well from how his teeth clenched and his eyes began to twitch wildly. Then he suddenly managed to pull himself free of his sister’s hold and made a grab for the spare IV pole as he’d done many times before.

“GET OUT!”

The boy in Membrane’s lap suddenly screamed as he ducked and dodged the metal pole being swung at his head. The tip of the IV pole instead connecting with the Professor’s raised prosthetic hand the other had been examining. The plastic cracking and bits splintering off from the impact and the whole arm almost getting knocked off the harness.

Dib dropped the pole near-instantaneously and his face paled at the realization of what he’d just done. He didn't even react as the target of his wrath from mere moments ago escaped the same way he’d turned up. None of the members of the Membrane family responding or saying anything in a moment of stunned silence.

“D-dad, I’m–” Dib barely got out an apology before he was slapped upside the head by his enraged sister.

“WHY’D YOU DO THAT, YOU MORON?!” Gaz now had her brother pinned to the floor and began to physically beat her brother. She wasn’t using her full strength, but she was definitely going to cause some bruises.

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” Dib cried out, raising his arms to shield his face. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO–”

“Children, _stop!_ It’s fine! _It’s fine!_ ” Membrane quickly attempted to diffuse the situation as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed to stand, using the undamaged arm to readjust the other until it was properly connected again. “See?” 

The Professor knelt down beside them and held the hand out between his children, flexing it in an example. Showing them the actual level of damage and preventing Gaz from striking at her brother again.

“No harm done! Only the outer shell cracked.”

That was actually a lie.

He could no longer independently move the last two fingers beyond making a fist.

But that hardly mattered.

These arms were _temporary._

Gaz, however, seemed hesitant about letting things go. Looking between her brother cowering beneath her and her father’s damaged hand. Eventually, she allowed for her raised fist to fall open and into the plastic shell covered palm. Her lips pursing as small fingers began tracing the cracks and poking at the small holes formed from where pieces had broken off.

“Now get off your brother and apologize, Gazlene.” The Professor said after taking in a breath.

“What–”

“ _Apologize.”_

“ _… Fine._ ” With a grumble, Gaz crossed her arms as she shifted herself off Dib. Refusing to look at him. “I’m… _sorry_ , I guess…”

“Thank you.” Membrane sighed. Giving her an awkward and stiff pat on the head, allowing the hand to rest there as he turned to his son. “You alright, son?”

“Yeah…” Dib mumbled, lightly wincing as he sat up. “Is… Is your arm _really_ okay?” he looked up to meet his father’s eyes, looking much younger than he actually was with the expression he wore.

The Professor said nothing, simply lifting his second hand and placing it on his son’s head in a show of affection. The action bringing a smile to the boy’s face before leaning away and into his side in a hug. An action that Gaz replicated, forcing Professor to reposition his hands to rest on their shoulders as they clung to him.

As much as he wanted to hug his children back, doing so with these current arms just wasn’t possible. Only further fueling his drive towards perfecting his company's prosthetic technology.

One day he'd be able to hold them close again.

One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clembrane's entire personality was just based on how Mem behaved the entire time he was doped up on painkillers during ZiM's visits.


	2. Chapter 2

Being home for several days in a row was a new experience for the Professor. A strange experience, but not unpleasant. Not like the couple of months he'd endured cooped up inside that single medical room. He'd only been allowed to step out when being wheeled between different testing and operating rooms.

He also never knew just how comfortable his bed was. He'd never actually slept in it before, opting to instead sleep on the cot he kept in the basement laboratory or his private resting chambers in the company buildings. That way, he could immediately jump out of bed and get straight to work at a moment's notice. But lying down to rest in his actual bed, his children crawling in under the sheets to sleep curled up beside him, he'd never had a more restful sleep. Not even after testing all the better-sleep consumable experiments he'd done in his lifetime matched up to it. It was something that shouldn't have been scientifically possible, but he couldn't deny the results.

Membrane's son had been right about his obsession with his work. Being forced to physically _stop_ , being forced to take time for his _health_ , had been a sorely needed event. Of course, he really could have done without it causing him the loss of his arms, but he supposed his losses could be _worse_. And he had gained more time with and an overall better understanding of his children as a trade-off. Whenever he looked at the data pertaining to his past behavior, the Professor had to concede that it was only through this severe injury that he could have begun the process to change as he was now.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t still be annoyed, however.

Cause he _very much_ was in terms of how inefficient his new arms were.

As well as the slow progress in his physical training.

Science, not even temporarily bulking up to join his high skool football team just to get a free ride into the first set of universities he attended had taken this long!

Grant it, back then; he'd used an experimental stimulant he’d concocted to adjusted his muscle mass and strength.

But still!

“Alright, I believe that you’ve done enough for today.” Cynthia, currently directing him in his rehabilitation training, announced suddenly. The Professor instantly pausing in the set of sit-ups he was doing to lie back and catch his breath.

“Nonsense,” He scoffed lightly, not quite winded yet. “I know very well I should be able to endure _much more_.”

“It’s not about how much you’re able to handle physically, Fess.” Cynthia shook her head as she rested a hand on his heaving chest. “The goal is to slowly work your muscles and endurance up at a non-strenuous and _healthy_ rate.” She lightly patted the side of his face before moving to help him sit up and stand. “Now, let's get you situated so you can rest a bit. I’ll come back up once lunch is ready to help you put on your arms. And _don’t_ even _think_ of getting up to access your work computer or continue these exercises on your own!”

“And are these ‘Doctor’s orders’?” Membrane sighed as he was helped onto lying atop the covers of his bed, the silky material of the sheets feeling nice and cool against his back.

“Oh, you bet they are.” Cynthia stood with a hand on her hip. “Man of Science you may be, but even _you_ aren’t above being told what to do for the sake of your health.” She lightly booped at his nose with a finger after straightening his glasses for him. “Now, _don’t_ move.”

With that, Cynthia left his bedroom and closed the door behind her.

The Professor laid there, listening to the sounds of her footsteps as she made her way down the stairs to the kitchen. Cynthia cooking, despite only meant to serve as his rehabilitation nurse and caregiver, had become the norm. She would cook up meals between his workout routines and physical therapy that would always leave more than enough leftovers to last several days.

Though she wasn’t doing this for him.

Cynthia had made herself _perfectly clear_ in how she was doing this more to make sure his kids ate more than takeout and tv dinners as he recovered. Her anger towards him for allowing things to get where they were with their food situation not having melted away in the slightest. And she wasn’t afraid to let him know it, even expressing a clear dislike of his home’s current mealtime management bot.

Membrane himself had to admit that he hadn’t done the best to his ability when designing the thing. All it did was cook up whatever was in the pantry and present it to his children.

The new Foodio prototypes couldn’t finish fast enough, in his opinion.

Speaking of…

Straining his ears to make sure he could hear Cynthia shuffling about in the kitchen, the Professor sat up on the bed and stood himself up as quietly as he could. Careful of where he stepped to keep the floorboards from creaking as he made his way over to the multi-monitor desktop computer he’d had the lab boys set up for his use. As he snuck over, he couldn’t help but note how much he felt like a teenager disobeying curfew given by their parents to sneak out somewhere. Only he wasn’t doing something to the same extreme, not yet anyway, he was just accessing his home computer.

Sitting himself down in his desk chair, he spoke in a low voice the command that woke the computer from sleep mode. The entire setup having been specifically designed to function both via traditional keyboard inputs or voice control alone. The built-in program several steps above what was currently on the market for speech-to-text software and pc control.

He should really make this available to the public as well, now that he thought about it.

But that could wait. The _public_ wasn’t why he was accessing his computer right now.

Accessing his email, he read over all the reports on the progress on his next set of prostheses as well as the responses and prototype blueprints for the integrated spinal harness he’d requested. He selected the two designs that had the most potential in accomplishing what he wanted, made a couple of suggested adjustments to each, then set to answering his other emails.

Those from his _lawyers_ or less vital projects that had somehow gotten around Lucius he downright ignored for the time being. Instead, he shifted through his inbox—replying here and there when applicable—until he found his main reason for disobeying doctor’s orders.

Progress on Foodio.

There seemed to be a mess of issues currently happening with the prototypes. The synthesized food in their recent rounds of testing often being toxic and volatile, thus completely unsafe for human consumption. And while sure, Membrane had experimented on his children in the past, he never allowed for anything potentially _deadly_ to be tested on them! That’s what the backlog of test children whose parents had signed all the necessary release forms and waivers were for!

But before Professor could pour himself over the data to try and pinpoint what went wrong—

“Professor, _what_ did I tell you?”

Cynthia’s voice visibly caused the Professor to jump in his chair and he quickly shuffled his feet against the floor to spin himself around.

“Cynthia! It’s not what it looks—” He began to make an attempt at explaining himself but stopped briefly when he caught the gaze of _those_ eyes again. “I…,” He paused to clear his throat, hating himself for how much power he let those eyes have over him. “I was only checking the progress on the new Foodio model’s development.” He pushed himself and his chair out of the way a bit for her to have a better look at what was shown on his screens.

“I see.” Cynthia, aware of the thought process behind the revived Foodio project, softened her gaze into one that was more understanding of his disobeying orders. “Still, I told you to rest and _not_ move. Yet here you are, at your _desk_ and not in _bed_ where I left you.” She sighed and shook her head as she walked over to the Professor. “Come now, lunch is ready. Let’s get your arms on and head down.”

Membrane nodded in agreement, shifting to get up with Cynthia’s assistance only to pause when the PING of a newly received email, forwarded to him from Lucius, caught his attention.

He couldn’t help but look towards the screen and groaned when he read the subject line:

PHYSICAL PRESENCE REQUESTED FOR NEXT TV BROADCASTED DEVELOPMENT MEETING.

He didn’t even have to _read_ the email to know what that was likely about. He hadn’t been seen by the employees and stakeholders of his own company, as well as the public, in months since his run-in with Bruce and Diana. His reputation and status were only continuing to make a smooth and stress-free recovery a near impossibility. Rumors about his condition were likely spreading and him showing up in person, rather than through holoscreen as he had been till now, would serve as a way to quell them before they got too out of hand. Especially since the canceling of his show and why he hadn’t personally presented/announced any new inventions lately had _already_ been a hot discussion topic on all the major news stations.

 _Science_ , he couldn’t remember ever being _this_ stressed since his children were infants.

And while the Professor had practically _lived_ in the limelight as much as he did the labs, he felt himself become physically sick at the prospect of re-entering it as he was now. Even if he were to cover up his prostheses, everyone around him would be sure to pick up on his uncharacteristic stiff and stilted movements. Keeping his condition entirely hidden with these prototype arms just wasn’t feasible.

As he let out a heavy and depressed sigh, Cynthia leaned over him and took hold of the computer’s mouse. She then immediately closed out of his inbox and returned the entire desktop to sleep mode before he could even try to open and respond to the offending email.

“Lunch is only getting colder for every second you’re still sitting here.”

* * *

A week later, and much to his chagrin, Membrane found himself in the main lab building getting dressed made “presentable” for the referenced board meeting from the unopened email.

He hadn’t _meant_ for it to be left unopened, but his lack of responding to it within the hour of receiving it had apparently warranted his inbox being flooded with additional emails from his stakeholders, lawyers, and every single other person in his work contacts that had managed to bypass Lucius entirely. The only way to get them to stop was to concede and agree to the “request” he’d originally planned to deny.

If this finally got the lot of them out of his hair until his rehabilitation and target arm prostheses were finished, the next time he dealt with any of them for anything would _still_ be too soon.

He was starting to wonder how he’d even been able to keep up with everything before his horrible accident on set. Perhaps it was his body adjusting to the slower pace of life away from long work hours, but he was already exhausted just stepping on the premises. 

“Now we just pull these up and tuck them under your sleeves like so...” Cynthia murmured aloud as she finished adjusting the full-length gloves over his arms. “Tie them in place with a cut hair elastic annnnd…There!” She took a full step back to let him get a good look at himself in the mirror behind her.

"Nice work, Mrs. Flores." Lucius commented from where he stood by the door, looking up from the tablet he was currently operating to give the Professor a once over. “No one should be any the wiser.”

"I hope you're right about that..." The Professor stared at his reflection, taking in how he looked dressed in one of his signature high collared lab coats after not having worn one in the past couple months. His appearance was much wider and broad-shouldered, nearly double in size, compared to before. A whole new wardrobe of lab coats several sizes bigger than what he’d previously worn had needed to be fitted for wearing his arms and harness beneath them. He still looked like himself, sure, no one would be able to mistake him for anyone but _the_ Professor Membrane.

But that didn’t make the stark physical differences any less noticeable.

There were bound to be questions about his sudden shift in body mass.

He shifted his gaze from his own reflection towards that of his two children sitting on the couch behind him.

“You’ll do fine, Dad.” Gaz commented when he met her eyes in the mirror. “Just do what you always do, talk as loudly as possible to show how much smarter you are than everyone else. Then no one will notice you being stiff as a board.” While her words also bruised what remained of his ego, the Professor wasn’t able to hold in the laugh he let out in response.

“Thank you, honey,” he turned his head appreciatively towards his daughter. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Ah, one last thing!”

The Professor felt his head turned back around as his glasses were taken off and something else was clasped around his head and over his ears. He was able to tell right away, even before Cynthia had finished properly adjusting the piece of equipment, it could only be his headset he previously had longed for when still kept in the medical ward. However, once the goggles were set and active, he noticed an immediate difference in the overall feel of the headgear.

His vision around the rims of the lenses was flatter. The edges weren't as obscured by the rims as he’d grown used to over the years. And it looked as if all his shoulder-mounted button controls had been flat out scrapped and replaced by ones located on the physical headset itself.

“Entra from the robotics department decided to make some modifications to your headset after I’d confiscated them from you.” Cynthia explained before Membrane could ask about the changes. “Though I’ve turned off their connection to the internet so you shouldn’t receive any messages through them for the time being.”

“I see.” The Professor nodded. “You have my gratitude, Cynthia. And I’ll be sure to give Entra my thanks as well.”

It was at that moment Cynthia’s Membraclet went off. Raising the device to her arm she furrowed her brows and tsked at the alert she’d just received.

“An explosion just went off in one of the labs. Got half a dozen chemical burn patients to treat now.”

And with that, she was quickly out the door. A strong indicator that Professor should do the same as well if he was to arrive at the meeting room in time.

"Ready to go, Professor?" Lucius asked as Membrane began walking over.

"Yes..." He nodded.

Pausing with a hand over the door control switch, he looked towards his children again. Gaz had paused the game she’d been playing on her Game Slave to give him a thumbs-up of encouragement. Dib, however, required a swift elbowing to the gut before his attention could be pulled away from whatever it was he was watching so intensely on his laptop screen.

“I’ll be back within an hour.” He told them just before stepping out into the hall and allowing the doors to his personal quarters to close behind him and Lucius.

"Everything will be fine, Professor." Lucius assured him again.

"I do hope you're right."

After taking the private elevator down and entering the main halls, they came across very few scientists and doctors during the walk to the meeting room. None had bothered to stop him or ask anything of him, which he appreciated, but he could feel their gazes lingering on his back. And he _definitely_ noticed the double-takes some of them made as he passed them by.

The moment the Professor opened the door to the meeting room, the whole room fell quiet as all eyes turned on him. Under normal circumstances, he would think nothing of it and drink in the sense of power and control he had with his presence alone. Now though? He could feel his entire body tensing as he stood in the doorway unmoving, waiting to see what the collective response to his turning up would bring.

“Ah, Professor! Hello!”

“Good to see you, Professor!”

“Welcome back, boss!”

"Digging the new look!"

At that, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he squared his posture and strode on over to his usual seat at the end of the meeting room table. Returning the greetings thrown his way with a few of his own, concentrating on his tone of voice and the movements of his arms as he did. Once he was seated, Lucius stood just behind him, the pre-meeting conversations finally came at an end and the floating cameras began to record as the meeting officially proceeded.

The universe appeared to be moving in his favor at first, the first twenty minutes ticking by without incident as the Professor did his best to be as vocal as was expected of him.

But then a drink delivery drone came in at the half-hour mark, setting down a large mug of tea beside him before he could refuse the beverage.

“Something wrong with your tea, Professor?” Whoever was seated to his left—Jenkins was it?—asked when he’d done no more than just _stare_ at his offered drink.

“No, nothing’s the matter!” He quickly snapped his head up at attention and let out a hearty laugh. “Just realized the solution of a personal experiment I was working on. ” He grasped the handle of the mug with one hand. “Go on, continue reading off your findings.”

“Ah, yes, sorry sir!”

The Professor waited a moment for Jenkins to start talking before he allowed his gaze to flicker back to the mug. He shifted his prosthetic ever so slightly, grimacing behind his collar as he positioned his other hand, the damaged left, to curl around the mug as well. Just as he normally would when drinking his tea.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lucius giving him a concerned look. His expression suggesting he was about to intervene and stop him. Or at least, he would have if not for his attention suddenly being taken by someone coming up and speaking to him in the Professor's stead and pulling him out of the room so as to not interrupt the meeting.

No longer under the watchful eye of Lucius, Membrane slowly began lifting the mug using both arm prostheses to the best of his ability. They couldn’t both receive feedback at the same time, so it took a great amount of focus on his part to get them moving in a manner that seemed _almost_ simultaneous. A bead of sweat forming on his brow and his arms visibly shaking from the sheer effort he was putting into the action.

He just had to lift the cup.

_He just had to lift the cup._

_Just LIFT it._

Then he could just continue to just hold it there and sip at his own—

“Are you alright, Professor?”

His concentration broke almost instantly. And just like that, his damaged prosthetic let go of the mug completely, leaving the other unable to adjust to the shift in weight distribution quick enough. The end result being the mug of tea clattering onto the table as the hot liquid splashed over his gloved arms.

“It’s alright! It’s alright!” He tried to calm the rising panic that began resounding around the room over the spilled tea, attempting to make it known his gloves would have kept him from receiving any burns to those concerned he’d been injured again so soon. “I’m perfectly fine, everyone! There’s no need to—”

While he’d been focused on calming those around him, he’d failed to notice one of meeting members rushing to grab a first aid kit until his body shifted from them grabbing at the upper half of his right arm.

“Wait! _Don’t_ —”

Before he could stop them they pulled the glove off in one swift motion.

The room was suddenly deathly quiet.

“Professor…”

He wasn’t sure who it was that spoke his name. He wasn’t listening anymore as his right arm was released.

Before his left could be unveiled in a similar manner, he peeled off the glove with his already exposed prosthetic and set them both on the table, palms faced downward.

“May we _please_ proceed with the meeting?” He asked in as calm a voice as he was able, attempting to regain whatever control of the situation he could. He had to get everything back on track and avoid having to go into detail about his current state. Especially while being filmed and publically broadcasted for the whole city to see. Let the public speculate however they wanted for now, so long as he was allowed to maintain how the public viewed him as an authority figure of science. Able to handle anything the universe threw at him.

But the universe had other plans.

He was bombarded left and right with questions.

Far too many for him to answer with how quickly they came at him.

But one stuck out to him over all the others: “Did you lose your arms as a result of those failed experiments with Bruce and Diana?”

Before he realized what he was doing, he had already pushed himself up from his chair and was heading for the door at just somewhat above walking speed. Someone attempted to stop him from leaving, but he used his upper body weight to push past them and head into the hallway. There, he continued to pick up the pace of his strides until he was _running_ to get away from his colleagues, and the cameras trained on his back as he made his escape. Only pausing to catch his breath once he was in the safety of his private elevator on the way back up to his quarters.

It was getting harder to breathe.

When the elevator doors slide open, he stumbled into the hallway.

He was just barely able to hit the switch to open the door to his room with his shoulder before he collapsed onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make this man suffer cause I care.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever wonder why there's far less MEMBRANE shaped things at the Membrane house in ETF?  
> Also, while doing more research for this series I was stoked to find that the direction I was going for our man's prosthetics is actually based on something that's being worked on irl: https://medicalxpress.com/news/2016-03-prosthesis-bone-nerves-muscles.html

He wasn't sure how it happened, though he had some theories about it, but the Professor found himself lying on the bed in his private quarters once he'd begun to calm. He laid there staring at the ceiling and just focused on the sound of his own breathing as he tried to piece together the missing bits of time before this moment.

He'd come up the elevator...

Opened the door to his quarters...

Collapsed on the floor...

Then...

Then _what_...?

"You okay now, dad?" His daughter's voice, speaking in a manner that was so uncharacteristically soft and gentle, and hand against his face allowed for the final pieces of memory to click into place.

He'd collapsed and his children had both immediately jumped from where they'd been sitting. Cries of shock leaving them as they scrambled over to his side. When he didn't respond, Gaz had begun dragging him over to the connecting room while Dib scurried off to grab something.

When Membrane shifted his gaze lower, he saw an emptied syringe clutched in his son’s tiny hand. The other pressed against the space on Membrane’s own chest just beneath where the surgically embedded port was located beneath his lab coat.

Dib had searched through the emergency medical kit Cynthia had left them and had even gone on to administer the correct medication into his bloodstream.

All on his own.

The Professor felt pride in his children’s ability to handle such a situation so efficiently at their age. But that pride was buried by the guilt and embarrassment that came knowing they’d only been in such a predicament because of _him_.

His children shouldn’t be responsible for taking care of _him_. It was _his_ job to take care of _them_. It had taken him five years for him to realize his mistake in believing he’d done more than enough. But even with his promises and doing what he could to be better, he was _still_ letting them down.

Just how much longer would this continue?

How much longer would his children have to endure acting as caregivers to their own father? A father who had _failed_ for so long in taking care of _them_ when they needed it?

He felt physically ill.

He _legitimately_ felt _ill_.

The Professor was retching into a trashcan before he even knew it. He didn't bother to question when his children had made a move off the bed to go grab one for him.

“Think this might be a side effect of that medicine I gave him?” He heard Dib ask, fear and worry laced in the sound of his voice, while a small hand awkwardly patted at his father’s back.

Try as he might to try and dissuade his son from thinking that, no words would come. He just continued to sit there in a cold sweat, breathing unevenly and hunched forward. The bucket having since been taken away and lowered to the floor.

“I don’t _know!_ ” Gaz’s response was to snap at her brother while keeping her volume just below that of shouting. “It’s not like I’ve seen dad have a freakin’ breakdown more times than _you_ have! I don’t know what’s _normal_ for him!”

As his children started arguing with each other, Membrane felt himself slowly falling forward until he had mostly folded in half and became a human pretzel. Only then did they stop bickering long enough to pull him back into a lying position on the bed.

* * *

It was a few days before he stopped being physically sick from stress on top of physically disabled. The Professor couldn’t remember how he’d gotten home, though he had a strong suspicion that Lucius, as well as Cynthia, played a rather large part of it. He had vague memories of being washed off, given something to drink, and put to bed as a woman’s voice spoke to him in a calming and motherly tone. She was even there when he was finally well enough to sit up after waking.

 _Science_ this woman really went above and beyond what was required of her as his assigned caretaker. He doubted any type of pay raise he could give her would ever be enough.

She told him how she’d received an alert the moment he bolted without warning from the meeting area. The state she’d found him and his kids in when she entered his quarters. How she and Lucius had to conspire with Entra and a few other loyal employees to get them out of the building unnoticed by the swarming news helicopters. Then the whole ordeal involved around walking him back into his own house.

Apparently the second they’d gotten him through the doorway, even if until that point between the shakes and high fever he’d been completely delirious and unresponsive, he’d taken one look at the Professor Membrane Brand living room lamp and had a complete mental break.

He’d seemed completely calm at first while she’d been helping him out of labcoat.

 _“Why is so much furniture… Shaped like me?”_ He had apparently asked.

And Dib and Gaz had responded to his question without much thought:

_“We didn’t have money to buy new ones when they broke.”_

_“They gave those to us for free since they recognized me as your daughter.”_

Not even a second after, just when Cynthia had turned her back on him to hang his coat, Professor had seen fit to go over and kick the offending lamp so that is smashed to pieces on the floor. His children were unable to do anything but stare in shock as he went on to destroy the rest of the memorabilia made in his image as he screamed in rage and anguish. Accusations being thrown at the inanimate objects over their apparent mockery over him. Only stopping when Cynthia jumped onto his back and got him to fall to the floor on his knees, Dib and Gaz then joining in holding him pinned until the anger devolved into heavy sobbing. All three of them continuing to hold him in a restraining embrace until he had effectively calmed and gone still.

“Tell me I didn’t hurt my children during that,” The Professor asked, feeling himself grow pale after the events were fully recounted to him. “ _please_.”

“You didn’t, Fess, I promise,” Cynthia reassured him as she touched at his forehead. Seeming to check him for any remaining fever against her own body temp before doing so with a touch-free thermometer. “at most, they were a bit frightened. But you didn’t hurt them.”

“... Good.” Membrane let out a held breath, feeling just a touch relieved but not as much as he’d prefer. “…I take it they’ve gone to skool for the day? Or…?”

“Dib has, but Gaz refused even when I offered to drive her.” Cynthia shook her head and sighed. “I believe she’s downstairs playing one of her games on the living room tv.”

“I see…” Membrane furrowed his brow, feeling riddled with concern.

“I’ll take you down to see her once we’ve gotten you a bath and changed.” Cynthia reached up to ruffle the hair on his head that had started growing out since the incident. The gentleness of the look she gave him made the Professor wonder if she really was starting to see him as her son rather than just _treating_ him as if he were.

He personally wasn’t sure if it was really appropriate from a professional standpoint. But then again, he’d essentially done the same with Dib and Gaz when they were only meant to be experiments. So who was he to make a complaint?

Did he even _have_ one to begin with?

“Maybe we should give you a haircut while we’re at it too.” Cynthia joked as she tugged at a lock of hair that caught between her fingers and pulled it down to the bridge of his nose. “Few more months without trimming you’ll have a head of hair as long as mine.”

“I would prefer to just shave it off as I’ve always done if I’m honest.” He glared up at the hair hanging over his brow. He’d noticed and felt it starting to grow in over the past few months, but now it was really becoming hard to ignore.

“Why don’t I cut it similar to the way your son wears his hair? An undercut?” Cynthia suggested as she moved her hand to intertwine with the locks behind his head. “Buzzed all the way around except for on top. That way you’ll still have that clean look and feel you like without rendering yourself bald like an old man.”

“Alright...” He lightly shook his head as he tried to hold in a laugh. “I’ll trust your judgment on this.”

A bath and a few minutes sitting under some hair clippers later, Membrane was pleased to learn he'd made the right call in taking Cynthia’s haircut advice. It really did _look_ and _feel_ much better than just shaving his head as he’d often done since childhood. And since it was apparently one of the more popular and “trendy” hairstyles these days, it made him look much younger compared to his previous fully shaved look. Even _with_ his goggles and facemask on.

“Finished admiring yourself in the mirror yet?” She teased him, startling him just a bit as he stood upright from where he had been leaning in front of the mirror.

“I’m actually admiring your _work_ , Cynthia.” He chuckled lightly. “You really are quite the hairstylist.”

“Raising three good for nothing boys who were too rambunctious for an actual hairdresser does have some benefits I suppose.” She laughed back, reaching up to ruffle his still partially wet hair. “Come on, let’s take you down to see your daughter.”

“Yes, please.” He nodded but took a pause when they got to the hallway.

“Something wrong, Professor?” Cynthia stopped at the stairs leading to the ground floor of the house when she realized he wasn’t following her.

“Ah, it’s just… I would like to put on my arms, if that’s permissible?” He gestured back to his bedroom with a tilt of his head. Though he noticed that at the mention of his prosthetics, Cynthia pressed her lips into a thin line.

“I’m sorry, Fess.” She started. “But they were damaged pretty badly during your collapse. From the way they looked, they absorbed most of the impact of your fall… And when you rammed yourself into Nye.”

The Professor cursed under his breath.

“… Damned cheap plastic.”

“But the good news is,” Cynthia clapped her hands together and regained his attention. “the next models Entra and the others are working on should be finished by the end of the week.” At that, Membrane immediately perked up. “They’ll be compatible with those spinal harnesses you’ve been designing. Though there’s still the matter of the surgery you’ll need for the implants and connection ports before you can actually use them.”

“As long as it can be all done from my own home, I’m perfectly fine with however long that will take.” The Professor affirmed, attempting to remain stoic but being unable to keep his excitement from leaking into his voice.

Finally.

 _Finally_ , he’d be getting some better prostheses.

“Don’t get _too_ excited now.” Cynthia walked back over to him and gave him a gentle shove on the back to get him moving. “You’ll only make yourself disappointed once you get them and there are still things you’re not happy with.”

“Well of _course_ there will be things I won’t be happy with.” He scoffed in reply as he was helped down the stairs.

Before they even reached the living room he was already listing off all the things he expected to still need redesigning if not just tweak. Though he let himself trail off when his daughter came into his peripheral vision. His attention immediately shifted onto her and the way she was peeked over the couch to look at him.

A thick blanket was draped over Gaz’s shoulders as she held her console controller loosely in one hand.

“Huh… That’s actually not a bad look for you.” She commented on his hair before crossing her arms over the back of the couch and addressing Cynthia. “Is he… _okay_ now? Or did you just bring him down to try and get him to eat?”

“I’m okay now.” Membrane answered instead, resulting in Gaz raising a brow at him.

“Oh… Okay…” She nodded her head slowly. “That’s good.”

Then she sat back down and continued playing her game as if the exchange had never happened.

The Professor would be lying if he said that response didn’t hurt a little.

He was quiet as Cynthia helped him take a seat beside his daughter and readjusted the blanket to cover them both. Then she announced she would be heading home for a while and would return later to help with dinner and getting him ready for bed.

Then it was just him and Gaz sitting alone on the couch in silence. The Professor feeling like he should apologize for what had happened but found the words wouldn’t come. So instead he just looked to the screen and watched the game his daughter was playing.

When he’d been sat down beside her, she’d switched up the game to a different one from what she’s been playing before. A game that was more in the realm of what she normally played featuring PVE and other violent attributes. She started up a new campaign and he watched her mess around in character customization for a few minutes—it looked like she was trying to make the character appear as monstrously ridiculous as possible—before he was finally able to bring himself to say something.

“Gazlene,” Saying her name caused her fingers to pause over the buttons. “I’m sorry you and your brother have had to deal with… My conditions...” He went on to say, keeping his gaze focused on her hands and their grip on the controller. “Including how poorly I’ve been handling them on a mental and emotional level as of late… _Especially_ as of late.” He emphasized and risked a glance at his daughter’s face.

Though she still wasn’t looking at him.

She just continued to stare at the screen in front of them.

Sighing, Membrane closed his eyes as he tried to think of what else to say. But then shifting movement and something wrapping around his neck stopped him. That “something” having been his daughter’s arms as she gave him a hug.

“It’s okay, dad.” She said as she pulled back. “We know how hard this is for you...”

“Yes, but—”

The blanket was then pulled over his head and he had to shake and jerk himself in order to be able to see. He felt Gaz shifting positions until she was leaning comfortably against him before he saw what she was doing.

On the character screen, the female character was swapped out for a male one with black hair and glasses.

“Wanna help me make the character decisions for this run?” She tilted her head to look up at him as she pointed at the screen. “I’ve already played through a few times so I don’t know what routes I should take next.”

Membrane stared wide-eyed for a moment before he smiled.

“… Of course, daughter.”

They spent a few hours playing through the game, Gaz manning the actual controls while the Professor made the important choices and kept track of map locations. They were really making some progress, though Gaz mentioned that was only in the main quest and that there were many more side ones that provided several hours worth of content.

Around four they decided it was about time to call it quits for lunch. Technically just a really early dinner in retrospect, but they’d both been so engrossed in their campaign that they’d forgotten to break for lunch until Professor’s stomach started growling.

As Gaz got up to stretch before they headed over to the kitchen, the Professor took a glance around the living room and noticed something.

“Isn’t skool over by now? Where’s Dib?”

Gaz just shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he normally never comes straight—”

The front door was suddenly thrown open as the current person of interest being discussed entered the house.

“He wasn’t at skool _today_ either, Gaz!” Dib called out. He didn’t seem to notice his sister or their father at all as he aggressively threw his skool bag on the floor. “And his house was _still_ as dark and _empty_ as it was yesterday! It’s like he’s _trying_ to trick me into thinking he’s go—”

Dib stopped the moment he turned and his eyes locked with the Professor’s. His face, which had gained a bit of chub and color to it lately, fell deathly pale near instantly.

“Dad…”

“Hello, son!” Membrane greeted, attempting to make the boy feel at ease. Understanding that, while he had been home the past few weeks, it was probably still unusual for his son to see him home at this hour. “How was skool?"

“Um… Fine…?” Dib’s mannerisms continued to be one of someone consumed by nerves. “You’re… Feeling _okay_ now…?”

“I am, yes.” He nodded.

“Oh! That’s… Great…!” Despite his words, Dib’s behavior suggested he thought the opposite. “ Hey, Gaz?” He started moving towards the kitchen and took his sister by the hand. “Can I talk to you real qui—”

Gaz tore her hand out of his before he could even budge her an inch.

“Dad and I were just about to reheat some lunch.”

“… Lunch?” Dib glanced towards the clock. “It’s four pm?”

“Your sister and I got a bit distracted playing one of her rpgs.” Membrane explained, curious as to what was going on that was causing his son to display such odd behavior. And not the _usual_ odd he was used to seeing from him.

“Oh…” Dib was quiet for a moment as he glanced between both his sister and the Professor. His face lighting up a second later when an idea struck. “I know!” the boy stepped past his sister so he was directly in Membrane’s line of sight. “How about we eat in the living room today while watching a movie?” He suggested but didn’t give a chance for a response. “Gaz and I will go get food ready while you pick something? Kay, dad? Okay!”

And just like that Dib was scrambling to the kitchen, leaving both Gaz and the Professor perplexed as to what had gotten into him.

“Daughter, can you see what has your brother acting so—”

“Insane?” Gaz finished for him.

“… I was actually going to say ‘erratic’.”

“Oh, really? Huh…” This seemed to surprise her. “Yeah, sure… I’ll go see what’s… _wrong_ with him.”

The Professor was then alone in the living room for the time being. Determined to let his son entrust whatever was bothering him to his sister. And while that was happening, indulging his son’s suggestion of picking out something for them to watch during their meal seemed like a good idea. Only…

Their remote’s voice control only worked if the button at its center was physically held down…

So with a bit of literal leg work, he tried to reach for the remote and use his foot to do the button pressing in place of hands. But he was a tad too uncoordinated and ended up knocking the remote under the couch where he couldn’t reach.

That certainly _wasn’t_ annoying.

Not at all.

With a sigh, he stood up from the couch and started making his way over to the kitchen to ask one of his children to grab it. The blanket that had been wrapped around him falling to the floor unceremoniously the moment he got up. As he neared the kitchen, he could hear Dib and Gaz talking to one another in hushed but angered voices. He did his best to ignore what was being said to grant them their privacy, but what he heard made it hard for him to follow through.

“… _Sure_ he may be home every day _now_ and it’s _nice_.” it was his son’s voice he heard first. “But the moment he’s finally got his new ‘ _perfect_ ’ arms he’s just going to go back to— _ow!_ ”

“ _Shut up_ , Dib.” Gaz hissed in warning.

“Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it too!” Dib countered as he began pacing. “That he’s only acting like he cares about us and doing everything he should have _now_ is just because he literally _can’t do anything else!”_

 _“_ Dib— _”_

 _“_ And-And the only reason he’s been having those ‘panic attacks‘ is cause he’s afraid other people are gonna realize how _shit_ a father he is! Or–or– _God forbid_ , he isn’t as _perfect_ as he made them believe!”

“ _Dib—_ ”

“The _second_ he’s able to work at the labs like always with his new _fancy_ prosthetics, he’s going to forget _all about_ his promise to us and go right back to—”

“ _ **DIB!**_ ”

Gaz grabbed her brother by the sides of his face and jerked his head around to look behind him, forcing his eyes to meet that of Membrane who had been standing silently in the entryway for the better half of his rant.

Dib’s face at the realization that he’d heard him was that of someone thoroughly horrified.

“Dad…” He pulled away from Gaz and took a few steps towards Membrane. “Dad, I didn’t mean—”

The Professor only turned away from him silently and began walking.

“ _Dad!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fell in love with these concepts Lazy French Fry posted yesterday (the day before I uploaded this) and it ended up inspiring and helping me finish the missing piece for this chapter leading up the the conclusion: https://lazyfrenchfrycollection.tumblr.com/post/621477044744830976/sir-this-is-a-mcdonalds-btw-i-am-not-a
> 
> Also, Cynthia is just Mem's mom now I guess. IDK how that happened.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The information Fess essentially vomits out this chapter is from an actual study published in the Disability and Rehabilitation medical science journal back in 2011.  
> There is also information from other scholarly articles I read when doing research for this series.

“Dad! Dad, _come on!_ ” Dib continued to call out to his father as he continued to walk without uttering a word.

There just _weren’t_ any words.

None that he could _say_.

“Seriously—” Dib suddenly clamped himself around Membrane’s left leg. “Will you just—” His voice cracked as his father continued moving and began making the climb up to the first floor. “ _Wait_ a second?!”

The Professor just kept going, refusing to look at his son all the while. Dib’s attempt at using the weight of his small body to throw off his center of gravity having no effect.

He’d gotten quite good at maintaining his balance through all his rehab workouts, after all.

“Dad, _please_ —“ Dib continued to beg, his grip on Membrane’s pajamaed leg growing tighter as he pressed his face into the plaid fabric.

Then Membrane finally stopped before the door to his bedroom.

“... Let go of my leg, son.” He said in a quiet voice.

“... No.”

“Son, please—”

“I’m not gonna ‘til you actually listen to—!”

“Son, _I can’t open the door._ ”

“... Oh.”

An awkward silence passed between the two as Membrane stood defeated with his forehead pressed against the unyielding door. The solid slab of wood just another of the day;s victors in the ongoing war of everyday things he’d once taken for granted. Sure, he _could_ have opened it with a bit of work with his legs and hips, but he lacked the resolve currently. It was already taking him a great deal of strength and concentration to keep his breathing and heart rate level.

It was all he could do at the moment to stave off the creeping physical effects of another attack. After all, Dib had made his feelings on their increased frequencies _very_ clear.

“Here...”

The Professor felt his son unwinding himself from his leg not long before the resounding CLICK of the latch releasing. The time between both events just long enough for him to stop leaning against the door. Otherwise, his weight pushed against it would have caused the door to fall open with him following after the moment Dib turned the knob. And falling on his face would do the exact opposite of helping him combat the negative thoughts swirling around inside his head.

He just needed to do something.

That was how he always worked through these episodes if he couldn’t run away to someplace private. He’d throw himself into the nearest available task/project at hand to distract his mind, and the moment would eventually pass. It was how he’d even gotten this far in life. Physically and mentally putting himself to work to overcome any issue he came face to face with he couldn’t immediately fix.

He just needed to do something.

_He just needed to do something._

He made his way over to the side of his room where the workout equipment used in his physical training was kept. His target of interest was pull-up bar stand, still set up since his last session under Cynthia’s guidance and supervision.

Without giving it any real thought, the Professor pulled his legs up onto the bar without any assistance. His prehensile hair limb and core muscles doing all the work in getting him properly into position. Had he tried doing this weeks ago, or even months ago when he’d still had his arms, he wouldn’t have been able to pull it off. Even if his body now was still less than a third developed towards the recommended target goal, he was still considerably more in shape by comparison.

He began talking aloud to himself as he started up a set of hanging-situps.

“This would go...” One. “So much faster...” Two. “If I could just recreate...” Three.

“Uh...”

“The serum I devised at sixteen...” Four. “For enhanced muscle development...” Five.

“...Dad?”

Membrane paused mid curl to look down towards his son. Turning his head made him a touch disoriented in his current position.

“Sorry, son...” He apologized before continuing. “But I _really_...” Seven. “Need this...” Eight. “… Right now.”

“But is it really okay for you to be doing this without Cynthia here?” Dib seemed more than a little concerned. “And what do you mean you ‘need this’?”

“Because...” Twelve. “This way...” he let himself just hang there for a bit to catch his breath with eyes squeezed shut. Taking in proper lungfuls of air through his mask only becoming increasingly difficult the more he physically exerted himself. “This way... I‘m still in control of something... I need to have something I can work on and control... Otherwise, I lose myself.” He let out slow breaths. “Did I ever tell you... How the all-time high for increased depression and anxiety in amputee patients… Currently sits between 37 to 41 percent?”

“...Okay?”

Membrane could tell from just his son’s voice the furrowed brow and pursed lips of confusion he was likely wearing.

“That’s _very high_ ,” He opened his eyes to look down at his son. But through the perspective of the Professor, he was looking up. His neck having to crane back for his line of sight to properly meet Dib’s. “Especially when you’re lumped in with that percentage…”

Dib averted his eyes at that, his face growing a brighter shade of pink as he hunched his shoulders.

“Upper limb amputees also tend to score significantly lower in life-satisfaction surveys compared to control groups.” Membrane continued to speak clinically of research he’d done in the past, feeling himself growing calmer the more he talked on the subject in a more removed sense. Even if it didn’t change at all how personally involved and affected he was. “Poorer mental health compared to control groups is common in observed amputee studies. And the effect of upper limb amputation on life satisfaction is mediated mainly by changes in occupational status and the occurrence of short- or long-term complications. Often noted by amputees as ‘other upper limb trauma’ concurrent with the amputation such as nerve damage affecting stump function, extensive scarring—”

“Is there a point to this, dad?”

The Professor sighed as he thought on how to summarize his thoughts further. Scrunching his eyes shut and clenching his jaw as he felt himself starting to feel lightheaded. Though that was more likely due to how he was still hanging upsidedown.

“While poorer mental health has been recorded in amputee studies…” He reopened his eyes and looked towards the floor. “In time, many amputees also begin displaying a more positive and accepting attitude of their situation. Exhibiting a whole new engagement with life as they become more open to the embracement of new experiences within their rehabilitation and general day to day life.” He locked his gaze with his son’s again. “So my point is this: even once I am fully recovered and have relearned to do basic everyday tasks. Things will _certainly not_ return to the way they were before. It’s not scientifically possible.”

Dib studied him silently as he appeared to process what he’d just been told. Conflicted emotions evident in his shifting facial expression.

“You really believe you won’t be able to go back to work like before?”

“I’ll be able to work, yes," Membrane nodded. "But not to the same extent as before. I don’t think I have the mental capacity to manage it, even if I could on a physical level.”

“Why?” Dib questioned.

“Because of the trauma.” He answered bluntly and with the best semblance of a shrug someone lacking arms could give.

“But—Dad! You’re the world’s most prominent scientist in _everything!_ ” His son began to argue against his claim rather passionately. “You should know that—“

“Being aware of trauma and its source does not make getting rid of it that simple, son.” Membrane explained. “The human brain becomes altered in many ways after experiencing trauma that can’t be undone through force. And I should know, I’ve done multiple experiments with volunteers attempting just that. _None_ of them ended well and sent a majority of the participants to the Crazy House for Grownups.”

Dib’s combative stance by this point had faded, leaving only the image of a young boy worriedly gazing up at his father.

“Besides, if not for the trauma... I’m unsure if I would have ever been forced to face the culmination of the mistakes I made with you and your sister.” He continued while he still had his son’s attention. “A blow to my hubris was one a long time coming, and after these past few months, I can’t say I didn’t deserve it. So, I’ve come to accept it as my penance. Both for my general _foolish_ belief sharks were my friends...” He gave an angry huff. “But more importantly, for unconsciously mirroring the same level of negligence my own father displayed in raising you.”

“So... Grandpa was a workaholic too?” Dib asked in a curious and soft voice. “You’ve never told me and Gaz about him before... _Or_ grandma.” He pursed his lips. “Where even are they?”

Science, what else has he still not told them yet?

“Uuuuhhh…” He really didn’t know where to start when it came to this. “Well…” _Oh, your grandparents have both just been dead since before either of you were born and I’ve just been lying to the rest of the world about them having also been scientists to avoid any media drama about my upbringing_. He very well couldn’t open up with _that,_ could he? He still remembered how _disastrous_ it’d been when he told them they didn’t have a mother when they got old enough to start asking what a mother even _was_.

And the blood rushing to his head was really only hindering his ability to think further.

“Dad, I think you’ve been upsidedown for too long,” Dib said, pointing out the obvious. “Your face is all red.”

“Yes! It _is_ about time I got down, isn’t it?” He said in quick agreement as he moved to get himself off the bar through reversing the actions he’d used to get on it. Though his legs were a bit stiff at the joints and were beginning to develop the pins and needles sensation that often came after an extended period of reduced blood circulation.

“Dad– _Careful!_ ” Dib called out suddenly. “You might—”

Before his son’s sentence was finished, the Professor's prehensile hair limb lost its grip and sent him falling flat on his back with a loud CRACK and choked scream.

“ _Dad!_ ”

Dib ran to his side as he managed to roll over onto his side with a pained hiss.

“What was that?!” Gaz’s voice entered the room from the hallway as her head poked in from the door. Her eyes going wide at the sight of her father curled on the floor in the fetal position. “… I’m gonna call Cynthia.”

* * *

“You’re lucky nothing’s broken and it’s just some bad bruising,” Cynthia commented as she gently applied a cooling ointment to the Professor’s back. “You would have been a lot worse off had you fractured your ribs.”

Cynthia had taken just under fifteen minutes to arrive after the call from Gaz. Her face upon entering the room and seeing him lying face down like some sort of parkour enthusiast doing the plank in the oddest place they could reach causing her to pinch her brow and let out an exasperated sigh. Her disappointment as she got him up off the floor and onto his bed where he would be more comfortable hung in the air like an oppressing aura.

“What have I said about attempting any of your rehabilitation workouts on your own, Professor?”

“Not to.” Professor mumbled into the pillow as he winced at the pressure placed on the bruised area.

He’d requested Cynthia to take him down to the accelerated healing chamber they kept in the basement, but she’d denied his request. Instead, she acted in favor of using the much slower topical treatments instead of a highly experimental and potentially hazardous one. Because while the chambers worked, there were still reported cases of sudden tumor growth happening in 40% of test subjects.

She also refused him because he would learn nothing from the experience otherwise and just get himself hurt all over again.

“I told him he shouldn’t have!” Dib added, throwing his father under the metaphorical bus without a second thought.

“You still _let_ him.” Gaz pointed out.

“What?! No I didn’t!”

“Hush now, both of you.” Cynthia calmly ordered with a finger to her lips. Both children falling into disgruntled silence at her command. “All that matter’s right now is making sure your father doesn’t pull another bullheaded stunt like this again when I’m off. And if you ever catch him trying to do anything on his own, you call me right away.”

In his peripheral vision, Professor could see his children give determined and affirmative nods like little soldiers being sent off to war.

“You’re using my own children to _spy_ on me?” He let out an indignant huff and rolled his eyes behind his goggles. And though he did feel a bit insulted, his tone was partially one of jest.

“I wouldn’t need them to if you’d just behave and listen to the medical advice and directions you were given.” Cynthia gave the prehensile limb on his head a squeeze and pulled his head up so he’d look at her. “You may be the world’s smartest man, but you’re also one of its _biggest_ idiots.” She stated bluntly but without a hint of malice. Her hardened gaze still somewhat soft and continued to show the obvious concern she held for his wellbeing.

“Quite the oxymoron.” Membrane said, unable to refute her statement since he _had_ done something incredibly idiotic.

“That you are, Fess.” Cynthia shook her head as she pushed his back down to rest against his pillow, giving the hair on top of his head a good tussling before withdrawing her hand. “I’m going to have to make a call to the prostheses and robotics staff at the lab. And then another to Lucius.” She began tapping away at her Membraclet and stood up to leave. “You getting yourself bruised like a banana is going to cause all sorts of delays in your rehabilitation and prosthesis development. It’ll probably be an additional two weeks before we can begin preparations for integrating the second set of prototypes.”

The Professor lightly swore under his breath, burying his face into his pillow as Cynthia went out into the hall and closed the door behind her. A few seconds later, he felt small hands fitting something made of paper and cone-shaped over his head. The action followed by light snickering and the sound of a cellphone photo being taken.

He decided not to make a comment.

After a few more minutes had passed, Dib began speaking to Gaz in a hushed whisper.

“When she said not to let dad do thing’s on his own, does that mean he can’t go to the bathroom by himself?”

From the sound that followed, Gaz’s answer to his question was to punch him.

“ _Ow_ , hey! It’s a legitimate question!”

“How should I know?” Gaz whispered back. “You should help him then.”

“Why me?!” Dib was suddenly no longer whispering.

“I’m a GIRL, _moron_. I don’t want to see dad’s—”

“I don’t want to see it either!”

“You’re the one who brought it up! Now shut your face before I slam it into—”

“Children…,” Him speaking up immediately silenced them both. “I lost my _arms_ , not my _hearing_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing Gaz put on his head was a Dunce cap made from her sketchbook paper.
> 
> Also, now you know why this entry is titled "Right to Keep and Bear Arms"
> 
> Cause Fess lost his right to have them for another two weeks from being an idiot.
> 
> See y'all in the next entry: "Sometimes You Have to Lose Your Arms to Learn How to Hug"


End file.
